


Hold Me Down

by ravenlowe



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drowning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11572719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenlowe/pseuds/ravenlowe
Summary: Still a young Handler, Merlin loses his first agent in the field.





	Hold Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Implied suicide warning is for the idealization that a field agent would rather die in the field than grow old, and the possibility that an agent has purposefully sought this end.
> 
> The Merlahad is a bit implied as well, almost blink and you miss it.

Merlin is no stranger to death. His ability to compartmentalize is one of the reasons he was promoted to handler from tech. 

Still, there's no amount of previous experience that could prepare him for sitting helpless in headquarters as his agent drowns. 

The mission is supposed to be a simple one.  Infiltration.  It's an in and out undercover op, with the sole purpose of setting up a contact that might be useful down the line.  Bors is a seasoned agent, nearly thirty years Merlin's senior, and his cover story airtight. 

They're both taken by surprise when the members of an opposing gang come for the agent in the middle of the night. Merlin shouts a warning over the coms and gives Bors a three minute head start, all while trying to get an extraction team into position.  They've trained for this. There  _ is _ a system in place. 

The system fails. 

The gang isn't interested in questioning Bors. They don't know who he works for, nor do they care.  All they want is to send a message to their rivals. Bors fights like a demon and almost makes it free, until a lucky shot to his kneecap grounds him.  They bind him and throw him in the river with nothing but his pants-- he hadn't even the time to dress. 

The extraction team is still five minutes out when Bors goes into the water. 

Merlin doesn't know if Bors can still hear him. The coms have been cleared for underwater use, but his words have so little impact Merlin has to wonder.   The man struggles through the first minute, wasting precious air that might have allowed the team to reach him in time. Merlin tries everything.  He steels his voice into a calm monotone and counts the seconds.  He barks out orders, and as Bors’ struggles slow, he outright begs the man to hold on. 

Bors’ heart monitor goes quiet. The extraction team is thirty seconds out, and Merlin keeps talking. He’s barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth; it's hard to hear over the rushing in his ears, but he swallows away the bitter taste of failure--of loss--, and keeps talking.   There's still a chance the team can revive Bors, if they can get to him in time. 

A heavy hand pulls Merlin back from his monitor as the team  _ finally  _ pulls Bors from the water. Merlin's hands clench at the edge of his desk as he resists the movement. For better or for worse, he wants to see this through. He  _ has  _ to see this through, but Mordred has no care for his subordinate's wants, as he gives Merlin another tug then spins him until he had no choice but to look at the older man. “I need to see this through,” he growls before Mordred can begin. 

“You need to step back, son. You're compromised, not that I blame you. You did everything you could--” Mordred is grim; sympathetic even, as he casts an eye to Merlin's monitor. 

The team is unable to revive Bors. 

Merlin bites his lip until it bleeds, and cuts Mordred off with a ruthless snarl.  “I could have done better.”

“You can’t foresee every eventuality,” Mordred cautions, with a hint of warning to his normally unshakable protege.  “If anything, your error was being  _ too _ good.  The pair of you sold the cover story so well, that Bors’ reputation got the better of him.”  He squeezes Merlin's shoulder and sighs. “With me, then. We need to debrief and inform Arthur.”

 

\----------

 

Hours later, Merlin still feels as if there's a live wire under his skin; some glitch in the system that he can't just put his hands around. He's been taken off duty. The leave is mandatory, and his reinstatement hangs on a positive psych eval. His appointment is in forty-eight hours, just to give him a bit of time to process, or so Mordred says. Merlin thinks the lack of work is going to drive him mad. 

He tinkers for a while--there’s a whole list of feedback on the new glasses he needs to address-- but can't focus on any one task.  No matter how much Merlin tries to distract himself, his mind keeps wandering back. 

There had to have been some sort of sign. 

And what makes this time so different? Merlin has always been able to turn to his work to get himself through times of turmoil, but after the third burn, he admits defeat, and goes to the gym. 

It's deserted, as it should be, considering the hour. 

On a normal night, he would swim laps, but tonight, the thought of being in water is somewhat… distasteful. He runs instead on the track that circles the pool.  The problem is Merlin still has time to think, here in the quiet. He can still turn the problem over and over in his mind’s eye, until it's an endless loop of Bors’ last breaths.

He runs until he works up a sweat, and then some. 

Harry finds him. Merlin's gait is barely a light jog, but the other man makes no move to join him. Instead, he calls out to Merlin from the sidelines. “Soaked in sweat is a good look on you.” Then, after a pause, accusatory, “You weren't in Handling.”

Merlin slows to a stop just out of the other man's reach. He doesn't know if Harry knows yet, about Bors’ fate. The man is fresh off a mission of his own, only just arrived to be sure, and considering the way his eyes rove Merlin's body, and his hand twitches out to touch, he's come looking for their regular post mission  _ debrief. _  Their relationship is a complicated mess of pining and repressed feelings buried underneath twenty layers of casual fucking on a good day, and this is not a good day. 

Part of Merlin wants to take what Harry is offering, and lose himself in the man's body the same way he's tried with his work and the running, but he finds himself shaking his head and brushing Harry's hand away as he steps back. Best just to make himself clear now. Merlin's feeling far too emotional for another one of their casual encounters. 

Sleeping with Harry tonight, with the mood he's in, might just break Merlin's heart. 

“I'm not in the mood,” he grinds out, stepping around Harry to retrieve his towel.  “I'm sure you'll have no problem finding another warm body to work out your adrenaline with, for one night at least.” 

He sees Harry startle at his harsh tone and turns his back to the man as he pulls the towel down over his face. It’s not Merlin's intention to hurt Harry; or maybe it is. Maybe there's some vindictive part of Merlin that just wants someone else to hurt because he's hurting. Whatever his intentions, that quick flash of  _ hurt  _ across Harry's face makes him feel nothing but shame. 

“Well, if that's how it is you absolute twat, perhaps I will.” Merlin can hear Harry's expression in his tone, the indignant flash of his eyes, and the way he draws up to his full height when something is vexing him. “Perhaps I'll even tell you all about it when you've come down from from whatever great bloody mountain you've put yourself on.”

There's no sound of footsteps, but when Merlin pulls the towel back down, he's alone with the echoing sound of his own breathing all the same.

It's what he wanted, but all he feels for it, is empty. 

\-------------

 

Merlin’s not the type to brood.  The past is gone, and there’s nothing to be done from it but learn from your mistakes.  Dawn finds him sitting at the terminal in his quarters.  He’s not  _ supposed _ to have access to his feeds from here but well,  _ supposed to _ , has never stopped him before.  It’s hard to say how long he’s been reviewing the grainy video.  The clip he’s reviewing, is just under fifteen minutes in length, and he’s watched it enough to have the sequence of events memorized by timestamp.

Between his notes, he’s drafted ideas for three new pieces of tech.  The first isn’t so much new, as it is an upgrade.  He’s come a long way with video tech since his introduction to the technology Kingsman has at it’s fingertips.  There’s no reason he can’t design something smaller, plantable like one of their audio bugs.  Powering the devices is the issues.  The next is a small explosive.  He’s not sure how to package it yet, but his doodles are beginning to resemble a hand grenade.    The trick to this one isn’t so much the how, just the how much.  It needs to be optimized for maximum damage, but the safety of the user as well.  The last is barely more than a sketch at present--the outlines to a SCUBA design.  Merlin has no practical experience with the breathing apparatus, but he has time to learn.

He will never have to watch another agent drown, if he can help it.

He loops the video again, and jots down more notes, in the margins of his other notes-- little theories on how these new pieces of tech could have changed the situation complete with new timestamps for the new chains of events as his imagination spirals.

Merlin jerks with a gasp, as a light touch lands on his shoulder.  He looks up, to find Harry there, fresh-faced and in a new suit, frowning down at him.  “Have you been awake this entire time?”

“Depends on what time it is,” Merlin rumbles, surprised but not, to find himself hoarse.  He pulls his glasses from his face and presses his palms against his eyes.  Now that his attention has wavered, he realizes how exhausted he is.  “What are you doing here?”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Harry tells him, matter-of-fact, as he leans in over Merlin’s shoulder to purse his lips at what he finds on the screen.  “You should have told me, you know.  I found out from Mordred what happened about two minutes before Arthur called for the toast.” 

“I did tell you that I wasn’t in the mood,” Merlin insists, as weak as it is.  He slumps back against his seat, and reaches out to stop the playback, too little too late.

The story of his past two days.

Harry turns his chair away from the screen and gives Merlin a long look.  “You’ve been sitting here brooding about it since we parted ways in the gym last night haven’t you?”

“Not brooding, learning.”

“Brooding,” Harry corrects with a pout.  He looks determined, and that never bodes well for Merlin.  The comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder becomes a tight grip, and then Harry’s pulling Merlin up and out of his chair, towards the bed on the other side of the room.

Merlin lets himself be dragged the entire way, but digs his heels in at the last minute.  “I’m still not in the mood,” he insists, twisting back towards his computer.    


Harry’s grip is iron as he tuts at Merlin as if he’s a naughty schoolchild.  “To be frank, you look like absolute shit.  Not exactly inspiring, if you catch my drift, but besides that,” he pauses and his gaze is almost disappointed.  “Beyond that, and whatever else we get up to, I like to believe we’re friends, so shut your mouth and let me be your friend Merlin.”

For once, Merlin does as he’s told.  He lets Harry pull off his clothing and tuck him into bed, and doesn’t even comment when the other man climbs in behind him.  Harry wriggles and maneuvers them both around until he’s curled flush against Merlin’s back with his face buried into the short hairs at the nape of Merlin’s neck-- the front of his hairline might already be starting to recede at the ripe old age of twenty-two, but the back is as thick as it ever was.

“You are my friend,” Merlin mummers, half-asleep.  It’s easy, to confess to Harry in the dark, and that should worry Merlin, but he’s too gone to care.  “I just..expected to handle it better.  Losing an agent.. It’s always a possibility, and I  _ thought, _ I was prepared for it.  I’ve watched people die before-- _ I’ve killed people-- _ but this it--”

“It means you  _ care, _ ” Harry interrupts, punctuating his already firm statement with a light kiss to Merlin’s neck.  “You protect us.  Every mission, with your frankly terrifying perception, and with every piece of tech you create and test and upgrade.  You might play at gruff and cool, but it doesn’t change the fact that you  _ care _ about all of us--even Lancelot--”

“Maybe not Lancelot.”

Harry huffs.  “Even Lancelot, and losing one of us was never going to be anything but a perceived personal failure in that great big mind of yours.”

Merlin turns his face into the pillow.  His words are muffled and slurred, more brogue than not, and tinged with embarrassment that Harry seems to have him so dissected. “Should I be afraid that you seem to have such insight into how my mind works?”

Harry's quiet for a long moment, almost long enough for Merlin, in his exhausted state, to fall asleep. When the quiet words come, Merlin's half convinced he's dreamed them. “I'd hoped, that it made you feel cared for.”

Warmth that has little to do with the blanket around him, spreads through Merlin's chest. Harry's arm is resting there, and Merlin can't half but reach up and curl their fingers together. He isn't really aware of speaking, but it's the sound of his own voice that reaches him just before he drifts off. “We’re more than friends, aren't we?”

If Harry answers, it's lost to Merlin's ears, but he imagines as he drifts off to oblivion the echoing press of lips against his neck. 

 

\---------

 

Merlin passes his psych exam and returns to work in time to send Harry off on a short trip to Madrid. He still has some issues about his not-a-breakdown-thank-you, but by the time they bury Bors, he's come to terms with it. He stands straight and proud next to Mordred, opposite Arthur and the Knights.  Gawain and Lancelot, of an age with Bors, are standing together, and Merlin idly wonders which will be the next he watches die.  There's no one from Bors’ blood family in attendance; it's a toss up, in the organization to which employees have family on the outside and which don't. 

Kingsman was his family, maybe someday Merlin will feel the same. 

Later that night, he shares a drink with Mordred in the shop.  They’ve not said a word for over ten minutes, when Mordred suddenly drains the rest of his tumbler, then stands to pour another.  His every movement seems to demand attention, and Merlin can’t draw his eyes away as he watches his mentor stalk across the room.    


Ice clinks into his glass, then Mordred speaks.  “I’m not saying that this was...well…” He trails off and glances over his shoulder at Merlin, before turning his attention to the windows of the storefront, looking through them with the stare of a man who’s seen too much.  “There’s no one that can say what was going through Bors’ head..but sometimes, with the older agents they, well, you hear the agents say it all the time, don’t you?  The way they prattle on about going out in a blaze of glory?”

It’s odd to hear Mordred, who tends to be frank to the point of severity, dance around the issue, but Merlin understands what he’s saying, and it’s fucking stupid.  It’s a damned senseless waste, no matter how you look at it.  There is no reason  _ retirement _ should mean a death sentence.  Just because Bors was perhaps not going to be in the field anymore didn’t mean that---

Mordred catches his distaste for the idea and sighs.  “Don’t be dismissive.  All I’m saying, lad, is fix the things you can, but don’t blame yourself for the factors that are beyond your control.”

“I understand,” Merlin replies, solemn, because he does.  That lesson isn’t anything new.  “I don’t even know how to explain it, just in the moment I floundered and got...stuck.  It won’t happen again.”

“It might,” Mordred disagrees.  “It might, and that’s something you’ll have to face.  Despite what people might  _ say _ , it doesn’t really get any easier.  It  _ shouldn’t. _  That rush of emotion is what makes you human, lad.  Don’t lose that.”  If Merlin didn’t know better, he’d say the man is edging on manic, desperate even, as he crosses the space between them, drink in one hand and the other reaching out to grasp at Merlin’s shoulder.  “This job will swallow you whole and leave you empty if you let it, Merlin.  Rise above it.”

Merlin’s brow furrows, but he nods as he looks up at his mentor.  “I will.  I’ll rise above it all.”  He doesn’t know if that’s the right thing to say, he’s not even sure what  _ rising above it _ will mean, but the words seem to put Mordred at ease.

He nods at Merlin, then pulls away, seeming to come back to himself in a single breath.  “Good lad,” he praises, before draining his glass.  “Now, back to HQ with you.  We’ve an early morning.  I want you to aide me tomorrow with the new recruit trials.  It will be your duty once I retire, after all.”

Merlin takes the dismissal for what it is, and takes the tube back to headquarters in silence.  He returns to his rooms, and to his bed, to find Harry already taking up occupancy.  “I thought you might need a little company after today,” the man says in way of explanation, and Merlin can’t really bring himself to care about the breach of his privacy.  He strips, then settles into the bed next to Harry, curling around the man in an echo of their positions from the days before.

It’s not long before he’s confessing to Harry, the things that Mordred told him.

Harry is quiet, his fingertips tracing patterns against the skin of Merlin’s arm.  “I won’t lie, and say that I don’t see the draw of it.  There’s something to be said for going out as a hero in a blaze of gunfire and glory.  The thought of growing old and useless is...depressing.”

“Bors was hardly old, or useless.”

“Compared to us, he was ancient.  I think I’d rather go that way.  Maybe not the way he did..but in the field.  Quick, in the line of duty, instead of some slow decay.”

Merlin imagines it, then wishes he didn’t.  It’s always a possibility, but the thought of being stuck on the wrong side of a computer monitor watching Harry die is unthinkable.  He bites his tongue, and pushes down the swelling emotion, but can’t quite keep his hold from tightening.  Their relationship isn’t in that place yet, where Merlin can ask him,  _ but what about me? _ _ Would you so readily leave me behind? _  They might never be in that place, the one where the answers to those questions are the ones that Merlin wants to hear.    


It’s better not to give the emotions a voice at all.

Tomorrow will be a new day, and the year-long process to select a new Bors will begin.  Merlin will continue to grieve for the one that they lost, and do his best to see that no more agents suffer his fate.  It’s not a realistic goal, but one that Merlin will strive for anyway.

Go out young in a blaze of glory?   _ Not on my watch. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This one was a bit hard to write for work and life reasons, but I'm glad I stuck with it and got it out. I really like exploring the pre-canon era, when Merlin and Harry are younger, and hope that you enjoyed reading it! As always, thank you to BosieJan for the quick beta, and encouragement.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @fvckingspectacvlar, where you can find more Young!Merlin, and even canon-era RP and ramblings.


End file.
